


Bedtime Stories (Sing Me to Sleep)

by LyingHonesty



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-14
Updated: 2013-10-14
Packaged: 2017-12-29 09:40:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1003864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LyingHonesty/pseuds/LyingHonesty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack just wants to sleep without dreaming for a while.  But spirits can sleep for a long time. (Added to the In Memoriam series 7.27.2014 due to the nature of the content and when it was originally written.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bedtime Stories (Sing Me to Sleep)

**Author's Note:**

> May or may not be made into a longer story

300 years of isolation. It wasn’t total, not really. The children couldn’t see him, but other spirits could. 300 years spent taunting, teasing, and playing jokes on whoever he could, for just a moment of attention, a glimmer of emotion caused by his actions. He could - did - live without being believed in, but that didn’t stop him from craving it, constantly, needing it.

The Guardians would never truly understand it. If there was a time that they weren’t believed in before the disaster with Pitch, none of them remembered. And that fleeting moment of powerlessness? They only felt that for a day or two. Maybe a week at the most. They didn’t have to go decades, centuries, their whole existences, trying to get anyone, anyone at all to look at them. He didn’t hate them for it, but they could never truly understand.

He wasn’t like them. Lack of belief hurt, yes, but it didn’t leave him powerless. Lost in his emotions, he could create blizzards and storms that killed. The Guardians didn’t kill, not humans at least. He did. Perhaps that’s why he didn’t seek them out, not for this, even though he knew at least one of them would help. 

He went to Jamie first, slipping in the window when the lights were all out but one: a little flashlight. Jamie was telling Sophie stories, and Jack smiled at how expressive the young boy was, even hushed, as he relayed tales of princes and princesses and dragons and magic. Jack smiled as he listened, but it wasn’t quite right, not tonight. He slipped back out before his chill could reach the cheerful children, before they noticed he was even there, and he called the Wind to carry him away. ”Take me somewhere to sleep,” he requested, and the Wind howled, lifting him high into the sky.

It set him down gently in a forest clearing, and left just as swiftly as it had come. Jack looked around, frowning. ”Why here…?” he mumbled. He walked over, hesitant, to the endless hole in the ground, and sat down. Pitch, he remembered with a bittersweet twist in his heart, had been the first to really see him. Even if it was only because he wanted to use him, Pitch had tried to give him the much longed for attention.

Hours passed, and eventually, Jack couldn’t help the way his fingers danced, ice spreading as he directed it into the shape of a bed. Four posters, delicately adorned, with pillows and blanket made from fresh snow, soft and welcoming, despite the cold. Jack climbed onto it and let more snow fall over him, curling up and tucking his head against the pillow, breathing in the crisp chill and relaxing, just a little.

He felt it when then shadows rose up to loom over him, and he didn’t even look when he heard Pitch breathe. Finally, the Nightmare King spoke. ”What are you doing, Jack Frost?” 

Jack shrugged silently. Pitch frowned, disturbed by the absence of quips, the lack of life in the little winter sprite. ”What’s wrong with you?”

"I want to go to sleep," Jack mumbled. He laughed, but it wasn’t right, it was something broken. "Three hundred years of waiting to be seen, believed in, touched, and now I have so many believers and I just want to sleep through it all." He looked at Pitch and tilted his head. "Will you help me?" he asked softly, surprising the dark spirit once more. "Just put me to sleep? I don’t want to dream, or have nightmares, I just want to sleep for a while. Please?"

Pitch was ready to say no. Why should he help a Guardian? More so, why should he help THE Guardian that ruined all his plans? He opened his mouth, and the wrong words came out, “Alright. Close your eyes.” Jack did so, and gently, Pitch wrapped him up in shadows, a gentle song filling the clearing around them, the Wind joining in to ease Its friend into a much deserved slumber.

Days, weeks, months, years passed by. Winters came and went with no cheerful child spirit to bring snow and ice. Pitch liked to watch Jack sleep, and on days that he couldn’t remain by his side, he let Nightmares watch over him, though with strict orders not to touch him. The Wind came, some days, and gently rustled Jack’s hair, keeping the frozen bed from melting on warm summer days.

The Guardians tried more than once to “rescue” Jack from Pitch’s evil clutches, but after a long talk with Sandy, Pitch convinced them to back off. Despite his weakness - though strength was growing as fear spread across the globe over the way the Earth was heating up - Pitch defended Jack’s slumber possessively, the Guardians visits growing more violent until Sandy explained that Jack needed them to go. The Sandman offered some dream sand, but Pitch turned him down, repeating Jack’s request of no dreams or nightmares.

Time dragged on, and the next spirits to try taking Jack away were the seasonals, exhausted from the world’s unbalance and angry at Pitch for taking away the only remaining source of winter. Pitch was like a dragon with its hoard, guarding Jack jealously until the seasons had to leave or be fatally harmed.

Spring was a muted affair as winter was skipped over. The flowers and the green grass and leaves were dull. The Earth was suffering as the lands weren’t allowed their yearly slumber to recover, and the crops declined. The constant cycle of sow, grow, reap with no rest between was taking it’s toll, and by the time autumn rolled around, it’s meaning had gone from bounty and beauty to death and dehydration. 

Summer was too hot now, and the spirit directing it was at a loss, his season out of his control. Plains were becoming deserts, forests were dying, and no one could do anything.

In the end, oddly, it was Eros who pulled Pitch aside. He understood, despite Pitch’s insistence that there was nothing to understand. Eros spoke of a spark, of how surprised he was that Jack Frost, of all spirits, managed to push through the ice around Pitch’s heart. Pitch scoffed, and Eros tried another tact. 

"Without winter, the darkness is chased away, Pitch. There may be fear still, but even that will taper out to apathy without Jack’s help. It’s been fifty years, don’t you want to walk in the shade of a full tree again? Don’t you want bigger shadows to hide in? We have to wake him up."

Pitch looked over his shoulder at the last trace of cold on the planet - even the Poles had suffered Jack’s absence - and he sighed, stepping back. ”Fine,” he allowed. ”If he gets pissed off though, you were warned.”

Eros nodded and moved closer to the bed, not at all bothered by the chill. His holiday had always been somewhat cold in most places. He sat on the edge of the bed and ran gentle fingers through Jack’s hair, and Pitch had to look away to contain his fury.

"Wake up, Jack Frost," Eros said softly. Pitch didn’t understand what it was with the rest of the spirit world and children, but Jack brought it out in them, and though he should’ve been disgusted, he thought it was… endearing. Eros traced Jack’s nose lightly, over and over, and the young spirit twitched and wriggled his nose. Eros smiled and patted Jack’s cheek. "It’s time to wake up, Jack. The world has missed it’s winters dearly."

Jack made a soft noise, and Eros looked up at Pitch. ”If you come quickly, you’ll be his first waking sight.” It was stupid, and Pitch would have said so, if his feet weren’t moving and Eros wasn’t shifting aside to let Pitch take his place.

Silver lashes fluttered and silvery-blue eyes opened slowly, so much brighter than the last time Pitch had seen them, despite the softness of just waking up. Jack looked up at Pitch for several long moments, and then he smiled, and Pitch felt relief. “You didn’t give me nightmares,” he said softly, and Pitch shook his head. ”You stayed?” Pitch shrugged. 

"I went out now and then. But you’re sleeping on my front door, Frost, I had to come back." He smirked, and Jack laughed, a sound like silver bells and too much joy. "I didn’t want to wake you, but…"

Jack frowned, pushing himself to sit up. He could feel it, Pitch knew. The Earth’s heat and dryness. ”How long has it been since I fell asleep?” he asked quietly. 

"Fifty years." Jack looked over at Eros in surprise, and smiled.

"Hey there, Valentine." He grinned, and Eros rolled his eyes, standing up. Jack looked around. "Fifty years, huh? What’s happened?"

"You’re late for winter," Eros said. "For starters. Groundhog hasn’t been able to play any pranks on Bunnymund - he’s out of the job in fact. Fifty Easters have gone by and Bunny apparently misses your interference in his egg hunts, since kids don’t like to go outside for them anymore in the heat. No white Christmases for North to gloat about. The seasons are weak and unbalanced, and Summer has more power than he wants. People are starving because of failed crops." Jack’s eyes grew wider and wider with every addition to Eros’s list, and Pitch blinked as the winter spirit’s fear spiked. He had left and the fun and snow had followed, and—

"I failed the kids," he whispered. He covered his face with his hands and trembled. "I messed up again."

Eros glared at Pitch, and he held up his hands. ”I’m not doing anything,” he snapped. ”This is all Jack.” He curled an arm around Jack, however, and shushed him. ”You can still put things right. Don’t you realize what this all means?” Jack shook his head, sniffling, and Pitch grinned. ”The world NEEDS Jack Frost. They’re going to believe in you even more, You just have to go show them something to believe.”

Jack’s eyes widened again and he nodded. ”I have to get going.” He looked at Eros. ”What month is it?” Eros grinned.

"It’s mid-December, Jack. A little late, I know, but I bet you can work up something good, yes?"

Jack nodded and got to his feet, picking up his staff from the ground. He looked at Pitch and smiled. ”Thank you, Pitch. You didn’t have to help me, but I’m happy you did. I’ll pay you back, okay?”

Pitch nodded, and the Wind scooped Jack up and carried him away. Eros hummed thoughtfully. ”He has a warmth in his heart for you, too, you know.” 

Pitch snorted and shook his head. ”You don’t know what you’re talking about Cupid.” He stood up, shook snow off his clothes, and slipped away into the shadows. Eros chuckled. No one ever wanted to believe him about their love fates, but he hadn’t been wrong yet. Jack Frost and Pitch Black made a good match, he thought, and maybe Jack could help Pitch find his true purpose.


End file.
